It seemed as if the young man's fate was irretrievably sealed, and his eyes closed as a faint prayer rose to his lips. But his time was not yet.
Dusky Dick recovered his feet and sprung forward, his head dizzy and confused by the sound blow he had received. But he knew enough to see the peril of the young settler, and—for a purpose of his own—resolved to avert it, for the present.
"Hold! don't strike!" he commanded, in the Sioux dialect. "You must not kill him yet."
It is not likely that his words would have had the desired effect had he not beaten the weapons aside with his rifle-barrel, and fairly hurled one or two of the savages aside.
It was, perhaps, fortunate that John had not shed any blood, although he had given some severe blows, for then, not even the influence of Dusky Dick, great as that undoubtedly was, could have saved Stevens from immolation. Even as it was, two of the red-skins—those who had received John's compliments—were clamorous for his death.
But Dusky Dick was firm, and fiercely declared that the man who lifted a hand against Stevens, unless by his express orders, should die the death of a dog. This threat, when uttered by one possessing the renegade's resolution, sufficed; and then by his orders, the young settler was firmly bound.
Dusky Dick drew aside with several of the principal braves, and consulted earnestly for a few moments; then he returned, and Stevens was lifted erect. Two savages held him firmly, while another loosened the bonds that confined his feet, so that he could walk, but not run.
"What do you intend doing, Dusky Dick?" he demanded, in a tone as calm as he could make it, while such angry passions struggled within his breast; "what do you mean by this outrage?"
"I told you the Injuns was on the war-path. Now you know it, don't ye?" chuckled the renegade, triumphantly.
"What're you going to do with me?" persisted John.